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Once upon a time, there was a scrawny nerd named Tim who trudged into the overcrowded school cafeteria with his two best friends, Alex and Ben. The three were inseparable—typical outsiders who spent their days discussing quantum physics and Star Wars. Tim wore his thick glasses and a T-shirt with a pi symbol, while Alex and Ben looked similarly unassuming, with backpacks full of comics and laptops.

At the serving line today, there wasn't a regular cafeteria worker, but Brock, the star of the football team. Brock was the type who had bullied Tim for years—locking him in lockers, ripping up his homework, and calling him "Nerdling." As punishment for his latest prank, Brock now had to do community service in the cafeteria, flipping burgers and filling trays. He grinned devilishly when he saw Tim and handed him a steaming cheeseburger with extra fries.

"Hey, Nerdling? Here, your lunch. And I put a special sauce on it for you. Free of charge. As amends for… well, you know," said Brock with a malicious laugh that sounded like the rumble of a demon. His eyes sparkled wickedly as he shoved the tray toward Tim. Tim muttered an uncertain "Thanks" and hurried away, unaware of what lurked in the burger.

The three friends found a table in the corner, away from the hustle of the other students. Alex and Ben chatted about the latest video game while Tim hungrily bit into his burger. The first bite was juicy, flavorful—and then it happened. A strange tingling spread through his body. His muscles swelled, his glasses slipped off his nose, and within seconds, he transformed into a massive, dumb bodybuilder. His arms became as thick as tree trunks, his chest nearly burst out of his shirt, and his mind… well, it was suddenly more fixated on protein shakes and weights than on math. Tim—or rather, the new Coach Tim—was now the fitness coach of the wrestling team. He sat there, chewing further, and grunted: "Yo, guys, let's go pump after this."

Alex and Ben didn't even blink. For them, everything was normal. "Sure, Coach," said Alex, as if Tim had always been such a muscle mountain. "But first, let's finish eating." They didn't notice at all how everything had changed.

As they ate, something massive brewed in the new coach's guts. An epic fart that felt like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Suddenly, it escaped—a beastly, stinking sulfur vapor, yellow and biting, that enveloped the whole table. The air grew thick with the stench, as if someone had mixed a load of rotten eggs with mustard gas.

Alex and Ben held their noses in disgust. "Man, Coach, what did you eat?" coughed Alex, while Ben gagged: "That's deadly!" But the vapor wasn't just stinking—it was magical. As they inhaled, they too began to transform. Their bodies ballooned, muscles grew explosively, and their faces became rough and dumb.

Alex turned into a monstrous bodybuilder, the new school janitor—with a broom in hand and the IQ of a rock. Ben transformed into the assistant football coach, a colossus with broad shoulders and a grin that said: "Football good, thinking bad."

The three now laughed boisterously, their deep voices echoing through the cafeteria. "Haha, that was epic!" bellowed Coach Tim. "Let's get more burgers!" Alex, the new janitor, nodded enthusiastically, and Ben slammed his fist on the table.

Martin was a typical insurance claims processor in his mid-forties. His daily routine consisted of mountains of files, endless phone calls, and the constant battle against bureaucratic hurdles. He always wore the same gray suit, had a receding hairline, and glasses that hid his tired eyes. His life was orderly but boring—a small apartment in the suburbs, evenings in front of the TV, and weekend walks in the park to clear his head.

On a rainy afternoon in February 2026, as Martin hurried through the park to get home after work, his gaze fell on something shiny on the ground. It was a plastic card, half-buried in the mud. Curious, he bent down and picked it up. It was an employee ID from the "Iron Temple Gym." The photo showed a young man with a mullet-like hairstyle and a confident grin. Name: Kevin Podolski. Born: Feb. 21, 2007. ID: 20070221KP. Position: Junior Trainer.

Martin wiped off the dirt and examined the photo more closely. The guy looked fit, athletic, with a hint of arrogance. "Poor kid, lost his ID," Martin muttered. Instead of turning it in, he slipped the card into his bag. He wasn't sure why—maybe out of pure curiosity or because he wondered what it would be like to be so young and carefree. At home, he tossed the card into a drawer and didn't think about it anymore.

The next morning, Martin felt strange. When he woke up, he sensed an unusual energy. His muscles tingled as if he'd just worked out. At the office, he sat at his desk and tried to process a damage report, but the numbers and clauses blurred before his eyes. "What was the formula for risk assessment again?" he wondered. It wouldn't come to him. Instead, an image flashed: A dingy middle school in a rundown neighborhood, where he'd hung out with buddies instead of studying. "Nonsense," he shook his head. "I went to high school."

Throughout the day, it got worse. His skin felt tighter, his voice sounded deeper, more youthful. At lunch, he stared at his plate and suddenly craved protein shakes instead of the usual cafeteria food. In the evening at home, he changed clothes and noticed that his belly looked flatter, his arms more defined. He pulled out the ID and stared at the photo. "Kevin Podolski... 19 years old." Martin was 45, but when he looked in the mirror, he saw wrinkles disappearing, hair growing—darker, longer, into a mullet.

That night, he dreamed. Not of insurance policies, but of an apprenticeship as a carpenter. He remembered the workshop, the smell of wood, the crude jokes from his colleagues. But he hadn't stuck with it—too boring, too exhausting. Instead, he hung out at the gym, pumping iron to blow off steam. One day, the manager had approached him: "Hey, kid, you're here more often than I am. Want to start as a temp? Pay's okay, and you train for free." Kevin—no, Martin—had nodded. That was his entry.

On the second day, Martin called in sick. He couldn't remember his passwords anymore, let alone insurance rates. Instead, he thought about parties in the hood, playing foosball with the bros, the feeling when the ball hit the goal. His clothes fit too tightly; he had to buy new ones—tight tank tops, sweatpants. While shopping, he felt eyes on him, and a strange tingling spread through him. He was horny, constantly. When he masturbated that evening, he didn't think of his ex-wife, but of muscular guys at the gym.

The transformation progressed. On the third day, he woke up with a six-pack. His memories of the insurance office faded like old photos. He looked around his room. For some reason, he'd expected a classic bedroom. Wardrobe, queen-size bed, a valet stand for his clothes. Shit, he must have had a bad dream. He was in his shared apartment room, the place he split with his old buddies: Mike, who was now a personal trainer, Tim the mechanic, and Alex the bartender. Back in the day, they'd played soccer together on the neighborhood youth team. Now they trained together, pumped iron, sweated, and laughed at dumb jokes. "Bro, you look like you could hit a new PR today," Mike had said yesterday during bench presses.

By the end of the week, Martin was gone. Kevin Podolski stood in front of the mirror, flashed his typical grin, pulled on his Adidas jacket, and headed to the Iron Temple Gym. He was 19, fresh, invincible. Insurance? What insurance? His life was the gym: Guiding clients, keeping equipment clean, and occasionally... well, earning a little extra. Some guys asked discreetly if he could "help" after hours. A blowjob here, a quickie there—it supplemented his salary, and hey, he was perpetually horny. Why not?

The rain sheeted down, turning the pavement into a black mirror that reflected the sickly orange glow of the streetlights. Inside the bus shelter, the world narrowed to a wall of fogged glass and the incessant drumming on the corrugated plastic roof. Felix huddled on the narrow bench, his organic cotton jacket pulled tight around his slender frame. The air inside was cold, damp, and smelled of wet concrete and regret. He checked his phone again. 11:47 PM. The last bus was late. Of course it was.

A sudden, violent shudder of the shelter’s frame made him flinch. The door was yanked open, and a blast of cold, rain-lashed wind preceded the new arrival. He was a storm of noise and presence, instantly shrinking the already cramped space.

"Fackin' pissin' it down, innit!" the guy announced to no one in particular, his voice a loud, nasal tenor that seemed to vibrate in Felix’s teeth.

Felix kept his eyes fixed on his phone, the screen a feeble shield against the intrusion. But his senses were already under assault. The new scent hit him first, cutting through the petrichor: Stale Lager & Cigarettes - a flat, yeasty bitterness layered over acrid smoke. Cheap Body Spray - a cloying, aggressive wave of synthetic musk and fake ocean breeze, likely from a can of Lynx Africa. Wet Tracksuit – the damp, synthetic smell of cheap nylon and sweat. And underneath it all, the raw, hormonal musk of a young man who considered a quick rinse in a service station sink to be a full shower.

Out of the corner of his eye, Felix took him in. Early twenties, maybe. A wiry, coiled strength beneath a thin, grey tracksuit top with stains on the sleeve. A gold-plated chain glinted against his throat. His hair was shaved close on the sides, a matted, gelled tuft artfully messed up on top. His face was all sharp angles and defiant sneer, a constellation of acne scars across his cheeks. He was everything Felix found abrasive, loud, and utterly repellent.

The guy slumped onto the bench opposite, his knees splayed wide, aggressively claiming space. Felix could feel the vibration of his bouncing foot through the metal frame. He pulled a sleek, black vape pen from his tracksuit pocket. It was garish, covered in tacky decals. With a practiced click, a tiny LED glowed blue.

"Fackin' bus," the guy - Felix already thought of him as just ‘Chav’ - muttered, taking a long, deep drag. The device gurgled softly. He held the vapor in his lungs for a moment, then tilted his head back and exhaled.

It wasn’t a wisp. It was a cloud. A thick, dense plume of sickly-sweet vapour, the colour of cheap candy, that rolled across the small space with deliberate, invasive slowness. It hit Felix full in the face.

The scent was nauseatingly artificial. Blueberry Ice. But not the fruit itself; the concept of it, designed in a lab and pumped full of chemical sweeteners and cooling agents. It was saccharine, cloying, and cold, like a freezer-burnt slushie. It should have made him gag. It should have made him cough, wave it away, complain.

Felix held his breath, turning his face aside. But the cloud was too thick, too pervasive. His lungs, desperate for air, betrayed him. He inhaled a sharp, involuntary gasp.

INITIATION.

The effect was instantaneous. Not a cough, but a shudder that started in his throat and radiated outwards. The cold, sweet mist didn’t feel like smoke; it felt like liquid static, a chemical fog that seeped directly into his brain through his sinuses.

The world didn’t spin. It… simplified.

The complex, looping anxieties about his unfinished thesis, his looming student debt, the subtle politics of his friend group - they didn’t just fade; they were erased. Wiped clean. The humming, frantic energy of his intellect simply… powered down. A beautiful, blank silence descended in his mind.

The sensory input from the shelter sharpened into brutal, uncomplicated clarity. The drip-drip-drip of water from a leak in the roof became a rhythm. The garish orange light was just light. The smell of the chav’s body spray wasn’t cheap; it was effective. It smelled like confidence. Like availability.

He took another breath, deeper this time, actively pulling the blueberry ice cloud into his lungs. It was cold and sweet, and it carried with it the ghost of the chav’s own breath, the essence of his saliva, a direct line to his simple, uncomplicated existence.

“You alright, mate?” Chav’s voice cut through the fog. It didn’t sound loud and abrasive anymore. It sounded… direct. Honest. The accent, which Felix would have once mocked, now sounded like the only way real men spoke.

Felix looked up, his own gaze feeling slow, heavy-lidded. His carefully curated vocabulary - ‘problematic’, ‘nuanced’, ‘aesthetic’ - was gone. A single word formed in the new, empty space of his mind. It felt profound.

“Yeah,” Felix said. His own voice sounded strange. Deeper. Slower. The cadence was all wrong. It was a grunt.

Chav smirked, a flash of crooked teeth. “Looked like you was gonna choke on me cloud there.” He took another drag, this time blowing a series of perfect, smug O-rings towards the ceiling.

Felix watched them float, mesmerized. They were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. He felt a low thrum starting in his body, a warm, buzzing energy that began in his core and spread outwards. It was a physical sensation of… dumbing down. A pleasant, heavy warmth replacing the cold spark of intelligence. His muscles felt looser, heavier. His posture on the bench began to change. His shoulders, usually hunched, pulled back. His spine straightened from its scholarly curve into a lazy, confident slouch.

“S’good, innit?” Chav said, gesturing with the vape.

“Yeah,” Felix repeated, the word now carrying more weight. It was an entire philosophy. Yeah. Acceptance. Agreement. Simplicity.

The music was the next thing to go. Chav’s phone, tinny and distorted through its speaker, was playing something Felix’s old self would have derided as mindless, misogynistic drill rap. The bass was too heavy, the lyrics aggressive and stupid. Now, the thumping beat bypassed his ears and went straight to his spine. His head began to nod, almost imperceptibly at first, then with more conviction. The aggressive lyrics didn’t sound threatening; they sounded like truth. They spoke of territory, of respect, of taking what you wanted. It made sense.

“You like that?” Chav asked, his eyes glinting with a challenge. “Proper tune, that.”

“Yeah,” Felix said again, his voice gaining a rough edge. “Banger.” The word surfaced from some deep, newly accessed part of his brain. It felt perfect on his tongue.

The warmth in his body intensified, becoming a hot, liquid pull low in his gut. It wasn’t just a loss of intellect. It was a gain of something else. Something raw and physical. His gaze wasn’t on the vape anymore. It was on him. On the sharp lines of his jaw. On the way his Adam’s apple moved when he spoke. On the confident, almost arrogant sprawl of his body. The cheap chain. The stained tracksuit. It wasn’t repellent. It was… powerful. Authentic. Sexy.

A powerful, dumb attraction, thick and undeniable as the vapour itself, flooded Felix’s system. It was a pure, hormonal surge that erased any last vestige of his old preferences, his ‘type’ (sensitive guys in cardigans who liked indie films). This. This rough, loud, uncomplicated bloke was all that existed. He wanted to be near him. He wanted to be him.

“What’s your name, then?” Chav asked, leaning forward, his knees bumping against Felix’s. The contact sent a jolt of that warm, stupid electricity through him.

“Felix,” he said, but the name felt flimsy, foreign. A name for someone who was disappearing.

“Felix?” Chav laughed, a short, sharp bark. “Posh name. I’m Kian.”

Kian. The name sounded solid. Real.

“I like Kian,” Felix heard himself say. The directness of it, the lack of subtext, was liberating.

Kian’s smirk widened. He saw the change happening. He recognized the look in Felix’s eyes - the glazed admiration, the dumb want. He was used to it. He exhaled another cloud, this time directly into Felix’s open, waiting mouth.

Felix inhaled it like a sacrament. This time, the change wasn’t just mental. It was physical. The chemical mist seemed to penetrate his cells, rewriting him from the inside out.

A deep, resonant HUMMMM started in his bones. His spine thickened, vertebrae settling into a new, more aggressive alignment. His shoulders, already pulling back, began to widen, the joints popping softly. The fabric of his expensive jacket strained across his back. His arms, previously slender, felt a surge of dense, functional muscle—the kind earned not in a gym, but in street scuffles and manual labour. His hands on his knees looked larger, the knuckles more pronounced.

His face felt strange. His jaw ached as it squared itself, his cheekbones becoming more defined beneath skin that was coarsening, losing its bookish pallor. A dark, prickling shadow erupted along his jawline - not a well-kept beard, but a rough, scruffy stubble that suited his new demeanour. His hair, previously soft and carefully styled, felt coarser, darker, as if it was sucking up the gel from Kian’s head through the air.

His thoughts were gone. Completely. Replaced by a single, driving imperative. Get closer. Touch him. Be him.

He stood up. The movement was no longer graceful; it was a powerful, uncoiling rise. He was taller. Broader. He loomed over Kian, who looked up, his smirk not fading but shifting into something more intrigued, more challenging.

“See somethin’ you like, posh boy?” Kian taunted, but there was an invitation in it.

The last of Felix dissolved. The man who looked down at Kian wasn’t Felix. He was someone new. Someone better.

“Shut it,” the new man growled. His voice was a low, commanding rumble, completely unlike Felix’s soft tones. It was edged with a confidence that came from nowhere and everywhere.

He reached down, his newly thick fingers calloused and strong, and grabbed the front of Kian’s tracksuit top, fisting the material. He didn’t pull him up; he yanked him forward, off the bench and into his space. Kian stumbled against him, a laugh caught in his throat, his eyes wide with surprise and excitement.

The new man’s free hand went to the back of Kian’s neck, grip firm, possessive. The scent of them mingled - blueberry ice, cheap body spray, rain, and now, Felix’s own new scent: a raw, potent musk of testosterone and dominance.

“I said, shut it,” he repeated, his face inches from Kian’s. Then he crushed their mouths together.

It wasn’t a kiss of romance or tenderness. It was a claim. A takeover. Aggressive, hungry, and wet. It tasted of chemical blueberries and lager and pure, unfiltered want. Kian resisted for a half-second, then melted into it with a muffled groan, his own hands coming up to grip the new, powerful biceps of the man who had once been Felix.

The new man - this dominant, chavvy top - walked Kian back against the fogged glass wall of the bus shelter, the impact rattling the whole structure. The world outside, the rain, the late bus, it all ceased to exist. There was only the heat of two bodies, the taste of the vape, the sound of rough fabric rustling and ragged breathing.

Clothes were torn at, not removed with care. His expensive jacket was shoved from his shoulders. Kian’s cheap tracksuit bottoms were yanked down. There was no finesse, only a brutal, desperate urgency. The new man was a quick study, every movement instinctual, possessive, dominant. He was where he belonged. On top. In control.

When it was over, a frantic, grunting, animalistic coupling against the cold glass, they slumped together, breathing heavily in the small, steam-filled space. The new man held Kian pinned against the wall, his larger body dwarfing the other’s. He nuzzled into Kian’s neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and cheap spray—his scent now.

Kian looked up at him, his expression one of dazed, satisfied shock. “Fackin’ hell, mate. What was your name again?”

The new man thought for a second. The name ‘Felix’ was a ghost, a whisper from a dream. A new name surfaced, something solid, common, strong. A name that matched the face in the fogged glass reflection - a face with a squared jaw, rough stubble, and a hard, confident glint in its eyes.

“Dean,” he growled, the name feeling right and true. “My name’s Dean.”

Kian grinned, slapping Dean’s chest. “Alright, Dean. You missed your bus.”

Dean looked out at the raining night, then back at the boy in his arms. A slow, arrogant smirk spread across his face, a perfect mirror of Kian’s own.

“Don’t need a bus,” Dean said, his voice thick with an ownership and a dumb, happy certainty. He pulled Kian closer. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

The transformation was complete. The health-conscious student was gone, wiped away by a cloud of sweet, chemical vapour and replaced by Dean: a chavvy, dominant top, Kian’s perfect dom boyfriend. He was stronger, dumber, and infinitely more sure of himself. And as he leaned in to kiss Kian again, rough and possessive, he knew, with every fibre of his new being, that he had never been anyone else

Oi bruv listen yeah… my Sir, soccerkitlad, proper owns every inch of this muscle chav and I fuckin love it. He hits me with orders and my cock starts throbbing instantly. “Train harder Ambrose” — I’m in the gym destroying myself, sweat pouring down my abs, legs shaking on squats while my black jockstrap gets soaked with precum. Every rep I’m thinking about how hard it’s making him.

Then he says “pose for me boy” and I’m straight flexing double biceps, chest pumped, arms bulging, pushing my fat bulge out so he can see how stiff his property is for him. I hold it till I’m trembling, moaning under my breath like a proper bitch, knowing he’s stroking his thick cock to the sight of his owned roadman breaking himself.

I proper get off on obeying him. The second he tells me what to do my hole twitches and my dick leaks. He could tell me to drop to my knees and choke on him, or bend over and take his load while I’m still in my jock, and I’d beg for it. Nothing feels better than being his obedient muscle toy — flexing, sweating, leaking, edging myself stupid just to bring him pleasure.

Sir gets so fuckin hard when he sees how ruined I am for him. That’s my job innit? To be his perfect chav slut that lives to serve. I’m addicted to making him throb.

Come on Sir… tell your boy what you want next. I’m ready to obey like the desperate owned slag I am 💦🍑

Fuckin hell bruv… when Sir @soccerkitlad grabs me and forces his tongue down my throat I proper lose it. That big dominant DILF hand gripping the back of my neck, pulling me in like I’m his property while he kisses me filthy — tongue fucking my mouth deep and aggressive, sucking on my tongue, biting my bottom lip till I’m moaning like a bitch.

He’s so fuckin horny all the time it’s ridiculous. I can feel how hard his thick dad cock gets pressed against me while he owns my mouth, growling into the kiss like he’s ready to breed me right there. One minute I’m standing there acting hard, next minute I’m leaking precum all down my trackies, hole twitching, begging without even speaking.

That proper DILF dominance destroys me. The way he controls the kiss, the way he slaps my ass mid-kiss and tells me “good boy” in that deep voice… I’m instantly his brainless muscle toy. I’d let him do anything when he kisses me like that — drop to my knees and choke on him, bend over and take every inch, whatever the fuck he wants.

Kissing SoccerKitLad ain’t kissing… it’s getting claimed like the owned chav slag I am. And I’m proper addicted.

Proper New Life, Yeah?

Your wish is granted, You wake up in a new life, living on the streets of London, rougher, scally chav with the stereotypical look in all leather, the gold chain sets off your look but it's the new voice that shocks you, deep gruff 100% proper London street punk. you find your mates outside waiting. Cold pavement. That’s the first thing that hits you.

Not a bed. Not carpet. Not anything familiar—just the hard, damp stone of a London alley chewing through whatever warmth you thought you had left.

You sit up too fast and immediately feel it: the weight on your chest.

A thick leather jacket. Heavy. Worn in like it’s been yours for years. Under it, a dark fitted tee, same vibe—tight, street-hardened, like it was chosen for you without asking. Your fingers twitch instinctively toward your throat.

A gold chain.

Not flashy in a fake way. Real. Heavy enough to sit there like it belongs. Like it’s always belonged.

You swallow.

And that’s when it happens.

Your throat tightens—just a second of panic—and then your voice comes out.

“...what the hell—”

Except it isn’t your voice.

It’s deeper. Rougher. London-cut. Every syllable comes out like it’s been dragged through concrete and cigarette smoke.

You freeze.

Try again, quieter this time.

“Alright… nah, this ain’t right.”

Same voice. Proper street-punk tone. No hesitation. No softness left in it. Like your words already know where they belong.

Footsteps.

You look up.

Three figures leaning against a brick wall at the end of the alley. Hands in pockets. Hoodies, track jackets, leather accents—proper scally look, all attitude and ease like they own the morning itself.

One of them spots you first.

“Oi. He’s up.”

They push off the wall and start walking toward you like this is normal. Like this is just another day.

The one in front—tall, relaxed, grin like trouble—nods at your chain.

“Look at him, yeah? Fresh as ever. Took you long enough to wake up, mate.”

Another laughs under his breath.

“You proper crashed last night. Thought you’d gone fully ghost on us.”

They stop a few steps away. Not hostile. Not gentle either. Just familiar in a way your brain doesn’t understand yet.

The leader tilts his head, studying you.

“Alright then,” he says. “You remember us… or you still figuring out who you are this morning?”

And for a second—just a flicker—you feel it.

Like your old self is still somewhere behind your eyes, trying to speak.

But London doesn’t wait.

Not even for memory.

They all go quiet for half a beat.

Then the one on your left snorts first, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Oi—he’s still got the dream hangover,” he says, shaking his head. “Yank, yeah? Mad.”

The leader steps a little closer, eyes flicking over you like he’s checking you’re all in one piece. There’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Listen to him,” he says. “Proper London mouth on him, talking about being a Yank like that was real life.”

He taps your shoulder once—firm, familiar.

“Yeah nah, you’re not that, mate. You’re right here. Always have been.”

Another mate kicks off the wall, adjusting his hoodie.

“You’ve been out for hours. We thought you’d done a disappearing act after last night’s run.”

The alley feels more solid now. More known. Like the edges of the dream are already slipping off you, peeling away like fog.

The leader jerks his head down the street.

“C’mon then. Brekkie run first. You’re looking proper knackered. We’ll get you sorted, yeah?”

He starts walking, expecting you to follow like it’s automatic.

And the strange thing is… it kind of is.

Because even though part of you is still trying to hold onto the idea of somewhere else, your feet are already moving.

Like London got there first.

The package wasn't just from JD alone. In fact, the products inside were from a collaboration between JD's clothing line and Hexum Industries.

Which explains the pink box with the JD logo, now currently in your hands. Normally they just use a simple cardboard box.

You had told Kai that the package had arrived. Immediately, he sent you a link for Zoom through the Tumblr chat. Pressing the link, you were soon able to see his face.

How hard he could make you... It was almost embarrassing how much of an effect Kai had on you.

He was a total chav. The way he spoke... The way he wrote! It made it so obvious he wasn't a cultured man. Sometimes you even wondered if English was truly his first language, despite him being native to the UK.

Kai was a complete idiot. A dumbass with no parallel. Yet believed himself to be the smartest guy around. He was so confident, it tempted you to just accept whatever nonsense he spewed as gospel. After all, he loved to reward you. You still remember the dick pic he sent you. Unkempt, wild reddish and blond pubes, pale thighs at the bottom of the picture. Low hanging balls. And a huge dick. Girthy, slightly curved to the left, and uncut.

It was a porn star kind of cock. Almost too big to be real... More than once you had dreamed of it. Of flying to the UK, kneeling in front of Kai just to worship such an exquisite prick...

Now, regrettably, you weren't facing his wonderful cock. But his smug face. He had a Burberry cap on. Wss also wearing a fake Lacoste polo, and a tracksuit jacket over it. He was smoking. He always was.

"I was like... Waiting for ya to get m'gift, bruv? And, like, now ya got it. So open it, bruv. They're proper clothes, check 'em out." he said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth, as he looked at you. "Be a good lad and rush. I'm sure you'll look proper fit, honest!"

Wasn't his accent so hot?

You opened the box, finding a gray tracksuit, black t-shirt, white Adidas socks, white sneakers and a silver chain. As well as gray Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

These weren't the kind of clothes you normally wore. Yet you recognized them. It was the kind of fashion a chav such as Kai would sport every day. It made you hold your breath with awe and excitement.

After all, you weren't a chav yourself. You were American. You were educated, currently doing a post grad. A life built for wealth and success... Completely unlike a chav's, who merely tried to imitate wealth without ever succeeding. Perhaps that's what made this so special. Perhaps that's what made this feel like the greatest gift you had ever gotten.

Because a proper chav was welcoming you. Allowing you to pretend, if for a second, that you were one of them.

It didn't matter there was a whole ocean between you and all the real chavs. You had always fancied them. You loved how they looked, how they spoke. Their vulgar and lower class simplicity. The abundant stupidity of their appearance, yet always enhanced by a certain masculinity that was so unique to them.

How many times had you fantasized about becoming one of them? Alone, at night, only accompanied by your trusty hand? You even loved imagining the dehumanizing way wealthier people would treat you, or think of you, were you to become a proper chav.

Meeting Kai, thusly, had always felt like a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it gave you an opening to see the world like a chav could and did. But it was a curse too, because it reminded you how you'd never be one of them.

This package? This gift? It was the nicest thing Kai could have ever done for you.

"Don't stand there lookin' thick, luv!" Kai said, interrupting your musings with a laugh. "Get off yer clothes! Let me take a proper look at ya! Then, you'll try 'em clothes on. Model them for me. How does that sound, bruv? It'll be a proper time, innit?"

Cheeks heated up as you nodded.

This was different to anything you had done before. One thing was to send and receive pics. But to get undressed in front of him? Sure, it was through a zoom meeting, but it felt so... Meaningful. So trascendental. Like this marked a before and after on your relationship with Kai. Were you truly ready for this?

You knew you would obey him. Not only because you wanted to. But also because you loved the idea of this ignorant sexy man giving you orders. A complete reversal of the real order of things. Were this in person, most would see you as above him.

No one had to know what you did in private.

First you shirt went off. A nice button up. It looked nice on you. Made you look professional.

Then the pants. Fancy dress pants. Somehow you knew they wouldn't look fancy at all if Kai was the one wearing them. Class and the features of his face were like water an oil. They repelled each other quite strongly.

Socks went next. You made sure to raise your feet up, so he got a view of how the nice dark fabric slid down your skin. Doing so for both feet.

Finally, your underwear. There was no reason not to get it off. He had already seen your dick before. And, besides, you were so hard right now that it was pointless to hide how excited you were from this. The bulge was so prominent enough it was impossible for Kai not to notice it.

Thus, you were naked. Kai was nodding, obviously appreciating the view. He was taking a drag from his cigarette.

"What a view, bruv. Yer a proper lookin' lad, so you are," he said, after exhaling the smoke. "Why don't ya turn around so I get to see ya whole, hmm? Gotta enjoy the view since I can't touch ya from here."

Biting your lip, you obliged.

You didn't go too fast. Allowing Kai some time to inspect your naked body. He whistled in approval, clearly enjoying this whole experience.

"The clothes, bruv. Try 'em on. It'll be like yer a proper chav like me. Promise ya that," he said, with a smile that should have made you pause.

Yet whatever hesitation or suspicion you may have had was utterly silenced by your horniness. The idea of becoming a chav, even if only as a role playing thing, was simply too arousing to ruin it with any kind of cynicism. Kai obviously couldn't have any ill intentions. What could he even do to you when he was on a completely different continent?

You took the Calvin Klein briefs. Were they real? Honestly, you couldn't say. They had to be new, right? But there were some flaws on the manufacturing that made you question that perhaps... Oh, who cared? This was about immersion, not perfect logic. So what if they were fake? Or if they were badly made? It would make the idea of becoming a chav all the more authentic.

Right?

They slid easily in place. Hugging your bottom very nicely. Playful, you moved your hips, showing your now clothed ass to the camera as you moved it from right to left.

And as you did so, your ass changed.

Both ass cheeks were inflating. Pushing the fabric outwards. It made you stop in shock. Looking at your own image on the zoom call, you witnessed your butt cheeks swelling. Until they were round, perfectly spherical. You now had an undeniable bubble butt. One of the nicest you've ever seen.

"This doesn't make any sense! What's happening to my butt...?" you asked, in shock. Was this a prank? Had Kai sent you boxer briefs with inflatable padding, or something of the sort?

A quick check was enough to prove that hadn't been the case. On the contrary, your butt had simply grown on its own. How? You had no explanation. Kai seemed awfully calm about it. Was he responsible? Or were you just imagining it?

Changes hadn't stopped however. For suddenly the briefs weren't as tight as they had become instant ago. You checked you ass, to see if the swelling had diminished to any degree, but no. Your new bubble butt remained unchanged.

That meant...

Looking at your bulge, you were devastated. As quickly as your ass had grown, your cock and balls were dwindling away! Hooking your thumbs on the waistband, you checked the damage. Whatever you had between your legs was not what you were familiar with. It was so small! An uncut tiny cock. Tiny even though it was as hard as it could be. It couldn't be more than three inches. Part of you feared it was closer to two!

And your balls? They had also shrunk. The whole ball sack higher and tighter. As if they had never dropped at all.

"Don't worry, bruv!" Kai said, with a grin that made you shudder. "I like my lads with tiny pricks. Makes 'em love my huge hog even more. Every one of 'em love to be dwarfed by me, honest!"

Shouldn't you be upset? Part of you was sure you should have. Yet Kai's words had made your devastation disappear as if it had never been there. Plus, it didn't matter how big your cock was. What mattered was how you used it. And since you liked guys like Kai to be in control... Well, you didn't need to use it for much beyond cumming.

No one needs a big cock for that. If anything, it may be easier to cum now than ever before...

"Put on the trousers now, luv!" he instructed, giving another drag to his cigarette.

Smiling... Because you were smiling for some reason, you followed his order. Taking the gray sweatpants, you put them on. Making sure the camera of your laptop was angled in such a way Kai could see you do it without any obstruction.

At first glance, the pants looked too big. Or maybe just too long? You just knew they wouldn't fit right. Not enough to complain. After all you were grateful that Kai had thought about giving you clothes to live your fantasy of being a chav. Even if just for pretend. If he had gotten the wrong measurement, it was an honest and easily forgivable mistake.

Yet, as you put them on... They seem to fit just right. It didn't make much sense, compared with the pants your had earlier. This pair was clearly longer and...

Why did the room feel smaller?

Checking your legs again, they looked longer. The fancy pair of pants... Of trousers look too small for you now.

Your legs weren't just longer, however. They had a really nice shape now. The shape of a man who plays soccer... No, football every weekend with his friends... Nice, well toned muscle, filled in the best of ways. Your thighs were just thick enough for your massive butt to make sense.

"What a sight, bruv. Yer shaping just right. Go on now. Get the shirt on, mate!" Kai said, distracting you again from your thoughts.

And so you put on the t-shirt. Immediately your physique began to change underneath. Lean, but in shape. Your pecs protruding enough to be considered as such. The t-shirt was tight, showing the trim shape of your torso exactly as it was now.

A sure bet was to say you spine had lengthened. The room looked smaller again. How tall were you now? Somehow you felt you had to be 6'1" feet tall. Maybe a bit more. Definitely not less.

Kai didn't let you get distracted with how much you had grown. He reminded you to keep putting on the clothes he had sent you. And so, you put on the jacket of the tracksuit. As you did, your arms changed. Although still lean, as the rest of your body, they filled with muscle. The muscles of a real man... The muscles of a working lad...

It was funny. Normally you would describe yourself as skinny. That wasn't inaccurate now. But, it was different. Now you were toned too. Trim. Like a man who wasn't just thin, no. You were strong. You were masculine. And you knew how to use these lean muscles when the occasion called for it.

Next were the socks. Kai reminded you. What would you do without him? He was so good at giving orders. It was so easy to just obey him, to just do whatever he wanted. Even if it was obvious. You were getting dressed, and your feet were still bare. Of course you needed your socks! But you hadn't thought about it yet. Not until he said to put them on.

Then the sneakers. They looked so much bigger than your usual shoes. In fact, they were next to each other. The sneakers were easily three sizes bigger. Surely they wouldn't fit? They had to be too big... There was no other possibility...

You hadn't given any of your measurements to Kai, now that you thought about it. Why had he bought you clothes? There was something weird about that, wasn't there? Then again, maybe he was just being nice... Kai always knew what to do... Why assume any ill intent?

Somehow, despite your scepticism, the sneakers were the right fit. They were huge, and yet... They weren't too big. If anything they felt a little snug. Well, you just had to break them in! All shoes were a bit snug at the beginning, weren't they?

"Yer almost ready, luv!" Kai said, as he finished his cigarette. "Only one thing left. Only one thing until you look like a proper chav!"

You laughed. Oh, how much you wanted to believe him! But you knew things didn't work that way. Clothes didn't make the man despite the saying. Your hair certainly was too dapper for that. Your eyes looked too intelligent. And you were healthy. Never smoked. Never drank. This was all pretend. Nothing more.

You took the chain in your hands. It was a nice one. Not something you'd consider using if it weren't for Kai's kindness and encouragement. Looking at the image of your face, as well as Kai's, on the screen of your laptop, you decided to put the chain on.

Eyes widened as soon as you did. It was unbelievable! Your face began to shift almost immediately! So did your hair!

The face was masculine, yet young. Younger than you were, at least. Not that you were old, at twenty three. You just felt younger, as if you had just turned twenty recently. The irises of your eyes had also changed. They were lighter now. Green? Blue? Maybe Gray? It didn't matter. Whatever color they now sported, it wasn't the usual brown you had grown up with.

Your new beard was something you felt proud of. Although, in your heart of hearts, you knew you shouldn't be. It clearly wasn't full, and it would take a lot of time to look like a proper beard. If ever. But it didn't matter how wispy your facial hair was. It was a way lf showing how manly you truly were. That was more valuable than anything.

As for your hair? You now had a fade. On the sides and the back. All the length was at the top. Still short, mostly messy. And you thought it was lighter too. Closer to blond than to black, even if it was still brown.

Overall, you were unrecognizable. Even to your own eyes, you didn't look like the American doing a post grad. But like the a regular chav from the UK. If you sat next to Kai at a pub, no one would see anything worth paying attention.

It was impossible to help the smile forming on your face. Your teeth! They were different too! Slightly crooked, not as white. They did look healthy overall, but in a more natural way. A guy with such teeth probably never needed braces.

"Woah, bruh! Look at that. I'm a proper chav now, innit?" you claimed, ecstatic.

Only to cover your mouth in shock. What was that? You hadn't intended to speak like a chav! In fact, any time you had tried to use the accent before—always alone—you did multiple and obvious mistakes. Your accent now was identical to Kai's!

Even the register was different. Deeper. Slower. Rumbly. With a lazy, almost clumsy way of saying each word.

"Bloody hell! Is that me voice, bruv?" you asked, looking at the screen, looking at the ever smiling Kai for any sort of explanation.

"It is, luv. So it is," he said, as if he was the wisest of men. "Exactly what ya wanted, I'm sure. To become one of the lads! And that I did, so I did."

Although the marvel you were feeling was great, that still gave you pause. What did he mean? How could he have done this? Magic wasn't a real thing, so it's not like...

Wait. Why were you denying magic's existence? You looked completely different! You sounded completely different! In no way you could recognize yourself anymore. No one could!

And... Why was it so hard to think about anything? Something here was fishy. It had to be. You just couldn't figure it out. A part of you knew it had to be obvious, yet any time the conclusion felt on your grasp, it just seemed to promptly fly away out of your reach.

"The package, me dafty!" Kai said, with a chuckle. "That's what changed ya, luv. I chose the clothes meself. It was like so great too. This clerk bloke told me I needed to see these magical clothes. That they'd 'life changing' or whatever. Didn't believe 'em. Why would I? But cheap it was, so I bought' em. Cheaper than any other clothes I e'er bought, bruv. And now I saw how it made you into a chav just like me! Well, almost... Couldn't have me fella be any smarter than me, could I, luv?"

Just like him...

No. That couldn't be true! Sure, the idea of becoming a chav was hot. But as long as it was skin deep. The way Kai described the transformation... It didn't sound so superficial. If your intelligence was on the line...

Your stomach plummeted. You were proud of your smarts. Of your effort, of your education. The idea of losing them was hot, certainly. But only as a fantasy. Actually experiencing it was a other matter entirely.

But were you really dumber? Perhaps Kai was just being cheeky. Laughing at your needless panic. There had to be a way of turning back right? There was no way Kai had transformed you permanently without asking you. And he had no way of telling of you were any stupider... Or did he? You couldn't be sure.

This had to be a role playing thing. It simply had to be.

"Don't worry, bruv. Don't stress that smooth brain of yers. Yer too thick now. And it's only going to get worse. Betcha ya don't even remember a thing 'bout what you've studied, huh?" Kai's voice was trying to be soothing, but they only felt chilling.

"I do remember!" you yelled, yet your deeper voice sounded uncertain. "I studied for years, bruv. Years! I ain't so thick as you say... I'm proper smart, I am! Like, for example..."

Suddenly your mind was blank. You couldn't remember a thing of what you've studied. Not even the basics. Even the most introductory of lectures had completely been erased from your brain.

You stepped back, unable to say a word. Eyes widened in panic. This couldn't be! You were smart! You were educated!

But were you?

Memories of going to college were quickly disappearing from your mind. The idea of doing a post grad was ridiculous. Not only because you were too young, but also because you couldn't even recall finishing high school anymore. Did you? Honestly you couldn't tell.

You just knew you didn't study for your A levels... Wait a minute! You weren't British! You'd never even have the chance to try those tests! Instead you had to... As all Americans, you had to...

What did you had to do? What did you do?

"Fuck, bruv! I can't... I can't remember shite," you said. "It's like I never went to college, bruv. What did ya do to me?"

"What ya wanted, luv," Kai replied, laughing. "Didn't ya say it? How hot ya thought us chavs were. How hot it'd be to become one of us. There's no point on complaining, mate. This is yer life now."

"That's not... It can't be true, bruv! It just can't!"

Your voice didn't sound convincing at all. It was hard not to simply believe was Kai was saying. Of course you liked the idea of being a chav. But only when it was a fantasy, when there weren't any real consequences. When you wouldn't lose everything just to embody this erotic drea..

"But it is, luv. Proper truth, I swear," Kai replied, taking a final drag of his cigarette, and then blowing the smoke towards the camera. "I can prove it, even. Try to tell me yer name. Just try. I assure ya, you won't remember it."

A smile formed on your lips. Of course you remembered your name. It was... It was... What was it?

"It's Jayden, bruv. It is now, that is," Kai said. "Suits ya. A good name for a proper chav such as yerself."

You shook your head. That wasn't your name! It couldn't be...

Yet every time you tried to remember your real name, none other appeared. Only Jayden. Your surname was different too. Something common. Something a working class lad could have that would not raise anyone's eyebrow.

"This can't be! It's not me name, bruv! I ain't a chav for real! It's the clothes, bruv! Just the clothes! I'm a smart fella! I'm American, bruv!"

It was almost worth a face palm. Until now you hadn't been able to think about removing your new clothes. You were transformed from wearing them. It was only logical that removing them would reverse the effects. Or so you sorely hoped.

Perhaps you hadn't thought about it because they were so comfortable... As if they were made for you to wear... As if it was the proper thing for you to wear... Why would you want to go back to your stuffy clothes?

No! That wasn't what you truly believed in! You had to take these clothes off. Pronto. There was no other way of returning to your original self.

"Just try, luv," Kai said, with a smirk that should be infuriating yet you couldn't help but find ridiculously hot. "Just try..."

Your hand immediately went to your pants trousers. You tried to pull them down and...

You weren't at home anymore.

In fact, you weren't even standing. Suddenly you were at the driver's seat of a car. How did you even get it in here? And when? It was so dark out. That didn't make sense. The sun was still up just a moment ago.

Kai's window showed it was night where he lived... Maybe...

No! That couldn't be it. You couldn't be suddenly transported to the UK, right? That was impossible. You were, like... How far was the US from the UK? It wasn't something you could remember, but at least you knew there was like a sea in between... Or was something else? Maybe a desert? That couldn't be right...

Bloody hell it was difficult to think!

Thankfully, the car was parked. Your level of agitation most certainly would have made you crash, otherwise. The question was: where were you? And why were you in this car?

It wasn't a nice car. Not only because it was dirty, with rubbish everywhere while also having an obnoxious cigarette smell. But also because the car looked old, and cheap. Something that had to be inherited, or bought second hand.

Looking outside, you were in the parking lot of an apartment building. Of a council state, to be precise. With a gulp, you left the car, wondering how would you get back home.

Or even if there was a home to return to.

Feeling lost, you leaned on the car. Your car, since you had the keys for it. It was locked now. It was your doing.

Not thinking about anything at all, you surprised yourself once you lighted a cigarette. Your new body was so used to the move, it hadn't required a conscious thought at all. It was almost scary.

Am I even myself? I can't recall a thing... Just Jayden, bruv... I'm just Jayden...

Such a thought made you crave the soothing feeling smoking gave. Closing your eyes, you surrendered yourself to this addiction an hour ago you would have not partaken in at all.

It felt so natural now.

"Oi! Jayden, luv! Why are ya all alone here, bruv? Let's go home, I need that mouth of yers on my prick," Kai said, standing next to you.

Kai... He was... Next to you.

That's impossible! He was in England and you... You... Where were you supposed to be? You knew you weren't British! That you weren't truly a chav! There had to be a way of...

His hand caressed your cheek. Your knees weakened, your eyes lost on the vulgar charm of his features. How handsome was he! How wonderful was he! Why would you be upset about him being close?

You were the best of mates. He was the love of your life. Shouldn't you be happy he's here with you? That he's generous enough to love you back?

"Kai..." you said, a stupid smile blooming on your face while a smirk appeared on his.

"Yes, it is me, ya dunce! Now let's go home, luv. I need yer pretty lips on my prick, not sucking a fag."

A part of you still thought about the other meaning of that last word. But as he guided you upstairs, you couldn't remember what it was supposed to be. No bother! It wasn't ike you were a smart guy, anyways. Kai probably knew. He always knew better than you did.

The apartment wasn't a surprise. Almost spartan due to how bare it looked. No decorations, minimal furniture. The only visible luxuries were a big TV, with a PS5 you and Kai were still paying with your job as binmen, as well as an old laptop with a just finished zoom call. Yet there wasn't a sofa, just two plastic chairs. There was some rubbish around, mostly boxes from takeout and used beer cans.

The bedroom wasn't any better. It was so messy. It smelled so bad... Yet how familiar and, thusly, comforting that felt! Dirty clothes everywhere, more beer cans, old gay porn magazines scattered on the floor. And the bed? Didn't have a frame. The sheets weren't properly in place.

They smelled like cum and sweat. And smoke. The best smells in the world, if anyone were to ask you!

"We're pigs," you said. It wasn't a complaint, nor a celebration. A simple statement of the facts. A declaration that felt almost too important for how simple it had been.

Kai looked at you with amusement.

"If it bothers ya, luv, ya can always act like a maid and tidy up. I'm chuffed with how things are, bruv. This is how men live proper. I won't move a finger to change a thing."

"It'd be bollocks, luv," you agreed, nodding with a dopey grin.

"So it is," Kai said, holding your face. "Now get in yer knees, and show me what that pretty mouth of yers can do."

And you did. You so did.

---

A week later, when you arrived home, you couldn't help but be remknded this hadn't always been your life. There had been a time when you weren't a dumb chav. You had been an intelligent American man, one who had dignity and a future.

That life was completely gone now. You had barely remembered it had happened this whole week. Since blowing Kai's cock that first night, you had not thought about who you used to be once. Not until now.

You should be frightened. You should be furious. You were about to be somebody, but now...

Now you're Kai's bruv. You're Kai's obedient pet. Always ready to please him, always ready to suck his huge dick (so much bigger than your own, which you loved), always ready to shag no matter the circumstance. Your ass was made to be claimed. So Kai said, and if he did, it had to be true.

Whoever you were before, it didn't exist anymore. You're now just Jayden. You always were and you always will be. Jayden, a dumb chav, destined to a life of poverty and ignorance. And a worshipful lover of Kai.

This was your biggest dream, back then. And now, it was also your truth. Until the day you died, and perhaps even beyond that.

But for now, you had to rest. The work day had been long, and you knew Kai would return. Horny and ready to use you as he liked.

You had wished for this, and you were too dumb to regret it.

(Here's an obligatory gif of a hunk to hopefully get your attention!)

Hey there y'all! With the new year approaching, I'm really wanting to make a plan to be more active and engaging on all of my platforms in 2026. I know I want to do more, but I don't know what you guys want. So, I figured it's better to hear from YOU directly - which is why I created a survey for you to take. If you're willing to do so, please click the link below. For those who fully complete it, you'll receive a gift on the last page as a thank you!

As classes let out on Friday, Danny couldn’t help but eagerly anticipate the weekend that lay ahead. Being the womanizer that he was, the man’s schedule had been fairly hectic over the past few weeks with all of the various love interests that he had. But as Danny checked his calendar and saw that his upcoming date was with Tiffany, one of the hottest cheerleaders in his grade, the teen couldn’t help but anticipate the night more and more with each passing minute.

The girl had been relentless in her pursuits of dating him, but although that was quite the turn-off as Danny preferred to lead the relationship given his dominant personality, he couldn’t deny that Tiffany’s determination was quite hot. With a nice rack and a curvy figure that left his dick constantly at full mast, it was safe to say however that Danny was willing to forget any potential turn-offs in the pursuit of getting off and spending time with an absolutely gorgeous woman.

Luckily, Danny had no football practice prior to the date, so he was afforded enough time to get home and relax for a bit before going to have a fun time with the gorgeous woman. Throughout the entire drive home, the kicker visualized himself on the field in between plays, staring at Tiffany’s gorgeous rack bounce and jiggle with each dance, kick, and jump she did for her cheer routines. In fact, Danny’s mind had been so preoccupied by the sight that he didn’t even notice himself running off of the road slightly and knocking over multiple mailboxes and trash cans that were dotted along the curb. But even if he did notice, Danny wouldn’t have cared anyway. His new family was rich and his cocky attitude refused to feel any guilt for his behavior, so the incident and any complaints could be easily swept under the rug via a sizable (at least to others) check without any real consequences.

After getting home and having the family maid make him a snack, Danny found himself bounding up the grand staircase of his family’s mansion and jogging down one of the long hallways and into his bedroom. Upon taking a moment to set the plate of food on one of his dressers, the jock quickly peeled himself out of his school outfit entirely. Opting not to take the opportunity to jerk himself off again to his own reflection, Danny instead grabbed a pair of athletic shorts and pulled them on. Now free-balling like the hunky straight man he now was, the man quickly powered up his gaming console while grasping onto a controller, headset, and the plate of food to begin the usual after-school gaming session with some fellow football jocks.

“Hey broskis, what the fuck is up?” Danny said with a chuckle, smirking as his football friends joined the lobby and its voice call for some Call of Duty matches. For the next two hours, the man and his bros absolutely demolished several teams as they played ruthlessly to assert their dominance even through a video game. In between each match though, the group of men spent the time being stereotypical bros while ridiculing each other and others around them. Even when a friend discussed their long-term girlfriend, Danny wasn’t afraid of chiming in and giving his own feedback. Despite the friend being mad as he cruelly ridiculed his girlfriend for her “tiny tits” and high-pitched voice, the biggest offense came as the man exclaimed how hard it had been trying to convince the girl to go to the next level with him.

“I don’t know dude, she seemed quite eager to put out when she messaged me a while back asking for a good fuck. Bro, have you ever thought that maybe you’re just not her type? Maybe you’d have better luck hitting up that nerdy chick Alyssa from Pre-Calc? I’m sure she’d be eager to get laid… As long as you don’t mind those bug eyes, buck teeth, and nasally voice,” Danny snorted, chuckling to himself despite the man angrily yelling at him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. 

Attempting to avoid conflict while still remaining in control of the conversation, Danny wasted no time jumping into directing the subject towards the most important thing: himself. Without any sort of remorse, he eagerly began to detail his evening and impending date with one of the many girls eager to get on his cock. Just the thought of her was enough to get a rise out of Danny, as made evident by one hand leaving the controller to go toy with his leaking manhood.

“Damn dudes, I can’t stop thinking about Tiffany. Fuck, she’s gonna look so good down on her knees with one hand wrapped around the back of her head. You can tell how eager she is for me to dick her down… but could you blame her? Of course she’d want to get fucked by the studliest man on the team!” Danny said, his rambling sentiments eliciting a mix of chuckles and annoyed gasps throughout. Even when the guys attempted to defend themselves and their own attractiveness, the kicker knew that none of them could compare to him! No homo though…

After finishing up one more round of CoD, a quick glance at the clock forced Danny to end his gaming session so he could prepare for the day. Upon departing with a few more snarky comments towards his friend, Danny finally exited the game and shut down his console as he headed towards his immense walk-in closet. Given his family’s lavish lifestyle, the jock was always able to purchase the latest and most fashionable clothing around, as evident by the countless designers that he found himself having to decide between.

Struggling to decide, Danny began to recollect the current plan for his date to help hopefully guide his fashion decision. Tiffany had wanted something simple yet private, which is why he was able to quickly remember the location of his date: Lovers’ Lookout. According to Danny’s dad, Lovers’ Lookout had been one of the biggest hookup spots in town, but given the fact that his dad was quite old and no one at school had ever talked about it, the man knew that the prime location had clearly lost all of its popularity in the years since. For years since that one talk with his father, Danny had soon incorporated the location into his roulette wheel of areas of romantic rendezvous.

Given the fact that the area was a cliffside vantage point on the outer edge of town, Danny knew that he had to dress somewhat warmly just in case of potential car trouble. But given the fact that he was going to take one of the many older cars that his father had collected, Danny wanted to lean in and fully embrace the image of a 50s bad boy. With his mind made up, Danny pulled on a simple white shirt along with black dress pants and a leather jacket.

As he prepared to head out and pick up his date, Danny took a moment to pull on one of his favorite gold chains and check himself out via his phone’s camera. Turning his head to check out his sculpted features and make sure that his facial hair was trimmed evenly, Danny flashed a smile before pressing record to send a little video message to his date.

“Hey babe, just wanted to let you know that I’m on my way,” he said, his body language and dialogue fully showcasing his status as a teen heartthrob. “I can’t want to see you,” Danny continued, his voice deepening into an alluring and sexy register as he flashed a wink and ended the recording. Damn, I’m good, he thought as he sent the video and walked out of the door to go pick up his date…

* * * * *

After pulling into the driveway of Tiffany’s house, Danny quickly fired off a text to tell the cheerleader that he had arrived. The man knew that he had a reputation as the school’s biggest heartbreaker, so the option of avoiding the woman’s father and just waiting outside seemed like the best route to take for obvious reasons. While he waited though, Danny couldn’t help but take off his jacket and pull out his cell phone. Upon popping a piece of gum into his mouth to make sure that his breath was good enough for the makeout session that would most likely be occurring later, Danny opened up TikTok and began to record a video for the thousands of followers that he had. 

Sitting stationary in the parked car, Danny simply recorded himself singing along to some random pop song and grinning into the camera before quickly uploading it. Given his status as a bonafide hunk, the man knew that his fans would take anything they could get, which worked well for him given his innate desire to do things with fairly low effort. Just as the video finished uploading and the likes already began to pour in, Danny watched as the girl finally exited the house and made her way into his passenger seat. Luckily for him, the girl dressed quite sexily, so as soon as she slid into the seat and looked his way with a full face of makeup and styled hair, the man’s dick was already growing rock hard by the sight. “Ready to have a great time?” Danny cockily inquired, winking to the girl as she put on her seatbelt while he rapidly backed out of the driveway and sped off.

While he had just mainly agreed to the date due to his eagerness to fuck someone, Danny still outwardly appealed as chivalrous by taking the girl to a lavish date at the fanciest restaurant in town. His dad was wealthy to the point of having a black card, so it wasn’t anything to Danny to drop over $100 on a simple meal for a date. Although the girl couldn’t stop raving about the food and the atmosphere of the restaurant, Danny’s eyes remained permanently trained on the two prominent breasts that were just an inch shy of fully heaving onto the table. While the girl’s tits were always one of his main reasons why he agreed to the date, her dress fully accented the breasts to the point where it was just one heaving bosom in his face so severely that Danny’s mind could only think about feeling them up. 

As such, when the waiter came around asking for dessert, Danny was quick to shut that idea down by paying for the bill and bringing the girl back to the car. Although she seemed grumpy at the moment about the lack of some fancy dessert, he knew that she would quickly enjoy the alternative as soon as she realized where the two of them were going. Throughout the drive, the man couldn’t help but glance over and stare at the woman’s exposed thigh from the high slit in the dress she wore. In fact, as his eyes continued to move upwards, Danny couldn’t help but see the color of the woman’s bright panties and think about just how badly she wanted him. Why else would she wear such a bright colored panty, he thought to himself as he looked up and stared at her face. Luckily for Danny, he was a fairly competent driver so no matter how many times his eyes peered away from the road, the jock remained perfectly in the lane as he drove up to Lovers’ Lookout. 

As soon as Tiffany caught a glimpse of the gorgeous view of the sun setting over the mountainous terrain, Danny knew it was game time from the look in her eyes. Happy and eager to oblige, he quickly flicked on the car radio and followed her to the backseat so the fun could finally begin. With a passionate intensity emerging within both of their young and horny minds, the two teens were quick to pull each other out of their respective clothing while consistently passionately mashing their lips together in a hot yet sloppy display. “Oh fuck,” she purred while taking Danny’s shorts and underwear off, looking at his lengthy dick as the perfect challenge. With him now totally nude and her dress in a heap on the floor of the car, it was safe to say that both of them enjoyed the visual of each other nude, especially Danny as he stared at her curvy figure and perky tits now on full display. 

Before he could really do anything with those hefty melon breasts, Tiffany was quick to tuck her hair behind her ear as she leaned down and began to run her tongue along Danny’s rock hard cock. Although he was clearly dribbling pre-cum down the shaft, she made no mention of this as she left no inch of his cock untouched. In between his moans of pure pleasure, Danny was quick to take control of the situation by running his meaty masculine hands through her wavy blonde hair and leading her open mouth onto his throbbing manhood. “Aw fuck yeah,” the jock growled, starting to pick up the speed in which he led her mouth up and down his shaft. It was quite hot to witness, but even hotter as Danny heard the girl’s eager moans creating a beautifully horny symphony that filled the entire car.

Just as he found himself rushing towards an early ejaculation though, Danny quickly pulled the girl off of his dick and began to return the favor to her. For several minutes, his mouth ran along the girl’s sizable nipples and made her moan extremely loud whenever his tongue grazed them. It was fucking hot, but even hotter was when Danny slowly got down to her crotch and began to eat her out as well. His reputation as a woman-pleasing casanova was something that Danny absolutely embraced, but that also required certain attributes that weren’t necessarily something that he enjoyed doing. One of those things was the focus on putting his mouth anywhere near the girl’s genitalia, but despite the reservations, Danny still did it to keep that moniker valid and to prevent himself from cumming too early. If it was up to him though, he would have just came and then waited a few minutes before fucking her and cumming again!

Luckily though, it didn’t take long before the girl pulled Danny up from her crotch and into a passionate kiss. With one hand now firmly grasped against one of her breasts, the other hand frantically flailed about in search of a condom. After about a minute of awkward searching, Danny was finally able to pull one out of a backseat cubby hole and place it onto his firm manhood. Looking up at Tiffany upon putting it on, it was clear by the glimmer in her eye and the tongue that ran across her lips that she was ready for every inch of him. 

So, as she spread her legs and pulled him closer, Danny wasted no time inserting his thick cock right into her needy pussy. Building a steady rhythm, the two of them continued to moan and curse through labored breaths as he began to create enough force to create a resounding slapping noise that filled the luxury car. Within no time, Danny felt himself finally rushing towards completion with an intense fury that prevented him from stopping the hardcore thrusting that he was doing. Just as he reached climax though, the man’s attention soon shifted as he heard a strangely familiar voice over the radio. 

“I promise that you’ll never find another like ME-E-E!” 

Immediately, Danny felt himself moan and throw his head back as the usual lightheadedness emerged. But as he continued to shoot his load, it soon became clear that this was no typical post-nut experience. Instead, the personality of Finn, the 27-year-old German school teacher and die-hard Taylor Swift fan quickly returned to the forefront of his mind. “Wha- what the fuck!” Finn groaned, slowing his rhythm as the continuing influx of memories caused him to realize that these weren’t strange memories, those were his real memories and life!

But as he looked down at the nude 18-year-old cheerleader underneath him, Finn couldn’t help but gasp as he quickly pulled out of her and jumped back to the opposite side of the car. How did this happen, he thought to himself, the last thing I remember was looking at myself in the bathroom?! 

Of course, this lack of memory of the next morning meant that it had completely erased Finn’s knowledge of the fact that he was now an 18-year-old hunky American jock. So, to add further to the surprise, a quick glance down towards his own body left him even more shocked as Finn saw the extremely tanned and buff skin that he now possessed.

“Holy shit, what the fuck!” Finn cried out, understandably shocked by the sudden re-emergence of his old personality. “I’m young and hot?” he said aloud, clearly questioning whether this was some sort of strange dream that he was somehow feeling incredibly lucid for. But no matter how hard he pinched himself or tried to close his eyes to “wake up”, it seemed that those old methods weren’t going to bring him back to his original reality.

“Of course you’re young and hot, I wouldn’t be here if you were some ugly creep!” the woman said, trying her best to get the man back on track as she was still eager for more attention and sexual pleasure. Upon looking at her, Finn couldn’t help but question what to do. Should I tell her the truth even though she’ll think that I’m crazy, or should I just play along and keep being the young jock that I apparently am now, he asked himself. But as he looked down and saw the condom-covered dick that he now possessed, there was a sudden but innate desire for physical intimacy. So after shrugging his shoulders, Finn decided the best course of action would be to just go along with whatever was happening. As he moved back in to start passionately kissing the woman once more, there were few thoughts running in his mind besides the influence of teenage hormones. If this was a dream that he woke up from tomorrow, this surely would be one of the craziest dreams Finn had ever experienced. But if this was truly a new reality for him, there was something about it that made Finn feel like he could certainly get used to it…

Happy belated birthday to @transform4u . I'm sorry this is so late, and it's kind of shit. I think I had too many ideas, and didn't want to expand on them as much as I should have. I also wrote it over several days, so the tone is all over the place. I'm not happy with this but, I hope you like it anyway. Happy birthday! BTW, a div is a kind of demon of gigantic size, in Persian mythology.

Another year older, another few lines on your face. You keep telling yourself they came from stress, from bad sleep, from staring at a monitor at three in the morning writing garbage transformations for strangers online. Endless writing. Endless pretending. It wasn’t like any of it was real, was it?

Tharnis wasn’t real. The Genie Ashur wasn't real. Robin Morningstar wasn’t real. The weird soda cans, the cursed clothing brands, coins, and cursed TVS, the Redwave shit — all fiction. Cheap fantasy. Stories about becoming someone else because maybe it was easier than being yourself for a while.

Right?

You were turning thirty at the end of the month, and honestly you mostly hoped for free stuff. Coupons. Promo emails. Some pathetic little “happy birthday” reward from companies that wanted me to buy more garbage. So, when your phone buzzed that night, you opened your inbox without thinking.

At first you thought it was just some stupid spam.

No sender. No company logo. Just a single unread message with the subject line:

“You made me.”

Your stomach tightened.

Then the screen started glowing.

Not bright — not enough to light the room — just a low, dim red leaking from beneath the glass, pulsing softly against your fingertips. Like there was something alive inside your phone, breathing slow and steady, waiting for you to open the email.

Fingers shaking, you open the email.  The subject line was “You made me.” You scroll down to the rest of the message.  Random characters and runes are strewn about the e-mail message, you have to wonder, how did they do that?  Is that even possible?  You finally get to the text of the message.  You made me, so I’ll make you.  That’s all the message says.  You feel tired, head to bed and black out.

***

The next morning you wake up.  You start to go about your morning ablutions, but, as you exit your bedroom door you bump into a gift box, literally.  It was left on the floor, right in front of your bedroom door.  You pick it up.  There’s a tag, but all it says is  “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” the type seems kind of burned in to the paper. 

You decide to open the box.  The air feels kind of heavy as you tear it open.   

***FWOOSH!***

A pulse of heat rushes out—red laser beams shoot from the box like demonic spotlights, dancing at a night club!  A soft odor emits from the box: brimstone, sulfur… and something else?   It kind of evokes days spent at the gym.  And after, in the locker room.  You cough a couple of times, and take a big breath in.  It smells very familiar. 

What’s in the box?

The outfit is intense.   Not just clothe, but true gym wear.  For men who really get in to lifting.  On top sits a bright fire engine red weightlifting belt, thick and serious-looking.  Next up there’s a crimson compression top.  Followed by metallic gold compression pants that shimmer under the light.  The look like they may be too small?  Would they even fit you?  And lastly, a pair of Otomix Stingray Escape shoes — fire engine red, laced tight like boots for a gym rat.  Below the shoes, etched on the box, a note:

"Congratulations on your birthday.  To claim your free month at Iron Dominion Fitness™, wear this outfit exactly as presented.  You may wear your own under garments if you so choose.  Pleas call 555-IRON to schedule your initial fitness consultation.” 

And that’s it.  All you’re left with are a whole lot of questions.  How the hell did that box get in your house?  Who the hell is Iron Dominion Fitness™?  Why did you get some mysterious box for your birthday?  And did this have anything to do with that mysterious e-mail?  Should you even go to that gym?

***

You didn’t remember making an appointment, but for some reason you found yourself headed to Iron Dominion Fitness™ at 7 am on a Sunday morning.  Your contact there, someone named Div Daimon?  

When you get there, Div himself, greets you.  He is an immense man, made completely of muscle.  The reception desk is dwarfed by this giant of a man.  He comes from behind the desk with a sly smile and says in an accented voice, ‘Welcome!  I was expecting you.” 

Was that a Middle Eastern accent?  Persian?  You had no idea.  You tell Div that you were here for the free trial.  He tells you that you look good in the promotional kit, and that he has a protein shake for you to sample, and a short video to show you about the rules of the gym.  Div says the protein shake is a new proprietary blend that the gym has commissioned.  

Div hands you a frothy protein shake, in a cup with “Fuel” printed on it.  He says it’s hand crafted for gains only. 

You drink it one go, you hate protein shakes, but you realize, you really enjoyed this one.  It tasted like the perfect root beer float and didn’t have the chalky aftertaste of most protein shakes.  How the hell did they do that? You have to wonder. 

Div takes you to a back room.  It has a couple of desks with computers on them.  He sets up one computer, and pulls out a chair for you. 

"Sit here," he says, pointing to a desk with large headphones resting on it.

You sit down. The seat feels sturdy, like everything in this gym was built for giants.

Div plugs the headphones into the computer, clicks play—and suddenly…

The screen is very simple.  No menu card, no title page, just straight to video.  Blak background, and in fades red text, varsity font, “Iron Dominion Fitness™”.

No menu.

No title.

Just *immediate video*—black background fades into soft red text:

Rules & Philosophy

A calm voice starts speaking—deep but not aggressive. More… authoritative coach vibes?

It's playing through your headphones now: Clear sound, no distractions~ For some reason you feel completely focused on this video.  You are ready to listen and absorb the important words you are about to hear. 

The voice continues—firm, steady, like a drill sergeant speaking in velvety bass, “Respect is the foundation of Iron Dominion Fitness™. Without it? No gains. No brotherhood. Just chaos."*

The screen shows:

- A montage of huge guys spotting each other

- Trainers high-fiving members

- Everyone nodding to one another with serious eye contact

Then text flashes and blinks on screen, You must respect clients and trainers.”  The Voice continues, “Every man here has been invited here.  We are not rivals; we support each other.  We do not fight with other members on the gym floor.  The gym floor is for getting swole, not to clash egos.”   Then a pause, in a harder tone, “You must listen to all orders issued by staff.  All orders issued by staff must be complied with immediately.  You will obey all staff members.”

Not a suggestion.  Not optional.  It was

 mandatory.

And with finality, the voice says,” It’s a matter of respect.”

Div watches you watch the video, his arms crossed—like a coach looking at his star player. 

The rules continue on screen. 

Mandatory Training Sessions

The voice says, "All new members must train under supervision for at least 2 hours per day.  No skipping.

You show up.  Work out.

Follow orders from trainers.  You will say yes, sir after each rule, do you understand?”

You were transfixed.  You reply softly, “Yes, sir.”

The voice says, “That’s not good enough.  Say it like you mean it.  Like it has etched it’s way on to your brain.  Like it will become your life’s work.”

“YES, SIR!”: you say with gusto.  You believe you will come here every day and put your  two hours in every day of the week.

The text on screen is replaced with new text, “Rule 2: Uniform Enforcement.”

The velvety bass voice, his coach says, "Members must wear Iron Dominion Fitness™ approved gear during all workouts — no exceptions.”  That means the red compression shirt, belt, gold pants, shoes are to become your new gym uniform, you think to yourself.

“Rule 3: Daily Performance Reviews”   

The voice, his coach says, “Every member gets graded daily by staff on strength, discipline, and ‘bro energy.’ Low scores mean extra training.  No slacking, just training and getting swole, bro.”

“Yes, Sir!” you exclaim.  This is great.  It means you have to stay motivated or they will allow you to make up the time you were wasting so you could reach your full potential, you are starting to get pumped. 

Rule 5 appears on screen: “No Personal Phones During Workouts” is displayed on screen. 

 Coach says, "Phones are banned in the gym floor. Focus is mandatory."* 

No distractions.  Just weights.  Personal customized music tracks will be made for you to help you achieve your full bro potential.”

“Rule 6: Weekly ‘Bro Talks’”

Coach tells me, "Mandatory group discussions about masculinity, respect for authority, and proper bro values."*

You are zoning out to the rules, making sure they sink in to your brain, the protein shake you drank making you fully receptive to the rules coach gave you.   You feel Div walk behind you, placing his hand on your shoulder.  “I am your Coach,” he says, “You are Chad.  A personal trainer here at Iron Dominion Fitness™.”  Your mind tries to fight it,  But you feel that what Coach is saying sticking to your brain.  You ARE Chad, You ARE a personal trainer at Iron Dominion Fitness™.

“You are a total jock bro.  Your IQ is 100, you might not no algebra, but you do know about macros, meal plans, and calculating the perfect weight for your clients to lift.  You are the ultimate Chad personal trainer, you know how to get people to sign up for personal training.  Now drink your pre- workout and get on the floor.”

As Coach was talking, you could feel your body changing.  You could feel your body growing taller, wider.  You could feel your muscles buzzing with energy as they grew and became the perfect musculature for a personal trainer.  Your brain hurt as you lost information about your old life.  You became Chad, personal trainer at Iron Dominion Fitness™, and you were fucking awesome, bro.  You fucking knew all the tips and tricks, to uhhh, like, make other bros fucking swole, dude.  You knew your stats were like, 6’6”tall, and you weighed 275 in the morning and you kept your uhhh body fat percentage at like 10% when you were like on a fucking bulking phase, bro, but when you were fucking competing, you cut down to fucking 3% pretty easily, bro.”

By the time Coach Div was done with you, you had become a 6’6” tall, 275 lbs muscle jock.  Your muscles had muscles.  You couldn’t help by flex and look at yourself in mirrors.  You were the ultimate jock bro personal trainer.